


Mr. Doctor

by saiyajinsama



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Age Difference, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flash Fic, Gift Fic, One Shot, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Shameless Smut, Sonic Screwdriver, Teacher-Student Relationship, Time Loop, Time Travel, commission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28334184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiyajinsama/pseuds/saiyajinsama
Summary: Traveling through space and time, the 12th Doctor lets his mind drift. He nods off to thoughts of his sexiest companion.... Nothing's wrong with a little harmless fantasizing, right?
Kudos: 5





	Mr. Doctor

The Doctor—tall, brooding and gray—finishes handing back essays. He announces, in a gravely Scottish accent, “Anyone who scored D or lower can see me after class. You may work on homework until the bell.”

The middle-school students silently work on persuasive essays. The Doctor also works quietly at his desk, but he watches one particular student, a petite chestnut-bobbed girl, as she squirms. He hides an inopportune erection; the afternoon feels heavy.

Thirty stiff minutes later the bell startles him back to the present. The students stand and stuff their backpacks. Clara gathers her things slowly as the rest of the class, chattering, make their way out of the room. She stumbles up to her teacher’s desk.

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and her knees peek from the bottom of her flouncy dress.

After a few minutes of silence, he speaks without looking up: “Close the door. It will get noisy in the hall.”

She crosses the room and gently closes the door with a metallic _clack_. She reads the announcements taped to the door; some cover the little window. Students fill the hallway outside, and as predicted, their shouts and stomps hit maximum volume.

“Okay, that's finished,” the Doctor announces, pushing back from his desk. He deposits a stack of papers into a drawer. Clara timidly walks back to his desk, and he swivels dramatically to face her. He runs his fingers through his short silver hair. “Nothing means more to you than your grade point average, eh?”

“That’s right,” she nods, tossing her cute hair out of her sweet maple eyes.

“Step forward, then. Chop, chop.”

With brow furrowed, she moves closer.

“Now,” he moistens his thin lips and enunciates slowly, “lift up your skirt.”

She blinks back at him, shocked.

He raises his bushy brows in calm, serious impatience.

She nods obediently. She fingers the front hem of her skirt and lifts timidly.

“Higher,” he commands a little louder, chin resting in hand.

She pulls her hem further, pauses again.

He points up, “All the way to your waist, young lady, with both hands.”

She blushes, looking down, and pulls her skirt higher revealing pastel blue panties.

“Don’t let go,” he instructs. He sits forward in his chair, inspecting her.

He hooks his fingers in her panties, and her glistening doe eyes widen. She tries to find words…, but she just bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut.

Trembling slightly, the Doctor slides her cotton panties down…, and he sees straight away her beautiful, smooth, innocent little sex. He strokes her lightly with a thumb. He is transfixed, but only for an earth second.

Then he picks up a pen-shaped device, his sonic screwdriver. With the end he lightly traces the smile of her pussy, watching her reactions like a scientist. He rolls the sonic across her mini mound, and she gasps lightly. “You’re so beautiful…,” he whispers with fascination, and his sonic trails down. He props her up on his desk and uses his free hand to clear his view, spreading her little labia.

“Wha-What’s happening, Mr. Doctor?”

“Let’s do an experiment,” he suggests softly. He presses his sonic screwdriver, slowly pushing into her slim silky pussy, and she cries out, wiggling.

He pulls the sonic out and chuckles with gruff warmth, “You are unlocked, little miss.” It clatters to the desktop, next to Clara’s ear. “Now for a proper tool….”

She feels something warm—and much larger—press against the molten cusp of her quivering innocence. “What are you doing?”

“We’re fixing your nasty grade, Clara,” he flashes his psychic paper, “Remember?”

“Oh…kay,” she squirms, “whatever you think is best.”

He clicks his tongue, “Indeed.” He thrusts against his supple student, and finally he penetrates her red hot purity; her virginity squeezes like a vengeful vise. She moans the sexiest sound ever uttered in the vast and virile universe, and his eyeballs loll back. 

He grabs her tiny hips to keep his balance, and her lithe body reacts, clenching tight; his knees buckle and he pulls out quickly—fumbling—and shoots hot ribbons over her bare legs. He can’t immediately catch his breath.

Turning as he finally stands, he manages to croak, “Off you pop,” and walks to a corner of the classroom, buttoning his pants. He rifles through cabinet files, disregarding her presence.

The skirt slips through her fingers and the fabric falls back around her hips. She yanks her panties up hastily, grabs her bag and scuttles out the door.

The Doctor wakes up, as high school students filter in slowly from the chaotic hallway. Rubbing his face, he watches an adorable wide-eyed young woman slide into her seat, second from the front.

He looks down at his desk and finds a stack of graded papers, so he passes them back. One boy groans, “ _Ugh_ , another C?”

Clara uncrosses then quickly recrosses her legs. Her dark hair flutters in a puff of air—already Mr. Doctor is two rows away. She looks down at her essay and feels a punch in the stomach—a thick red D mocks her from the top. She feels sick and numb.

_Hmph_. The Doctor sits at his desk, grading a new stack of homework, with a clear view of Clara’s budding breasts. They heave when she’s nervous. 

His afternoon class is usually more engaged, but a tough biology exam earlier has most of them dragging. They grumble, desperate for the day’s crawling end. Shadows lengthen, and finally the bell rings. The students load their backpacks.

Clara waits for everyone to leave before finally approaching his desk. “Mr. Doctor, sir?” she leans in, “I don’t understand my grade.”

The Doctor looks up and blinks. “It was sloppy work, Clara. You can do much better than that.”

“I've had a wobble," she says, brow furrowed, "a big wobble. I am so sorry,” she breathes heavy.

“If you hang back," he offers at last, "there's extra credit to bring your grade up.”

“Thank you, Mr. Doctor,” she sighs, clasping her chest, “That’s such a relief. I want to made you proud. _Oh!_ Tenses are difficult, aren't they?”

“You remind me of someone…,” he whispers.

She giggles in tinkles of cute notes and lays a hand on his arm.

He flexes his fingers and argues with himself, “This is a dream. Pure fantasy. Definitely. Sure. Ninety-nine percent sure," he nods, "Really? Ninety-nine percent? That's quite high.” 

“Are you asking me?”

“Is that the figure you're sticking with?” he continues, “Okay, okay. Sixty-nine. Well, that's jumped quite a bit. You've just lost thirty percent and made a very poor joke.” He looks sideways at Clara’s adorably quizzical countenance.

“Mr. Doctor?”

“You… you should always _try new things_.” He grins. There’s no harm dabbling in a bit of ridiculous fantasy.

“New things, right,” she swallows the lump in her throat, and she unbuttons the top of her jeans. She pulls the zipper down slowly, burning with nervous excitement. She pushes the stiff fabric down… over her hips, to her knees, down.

He loops his index finger under her lacy panties and tugs her waistband a short way down her sexy ass. He can almost _taste_ her dainty pussy..., but he grimaces. “This isn’t right.”

“It's just extra credit, Mr. Doctor,” she smiles and lifts her shirt, “It’s our secret.”

He smirks, and then he greedily caresses her itty bare breasts, “You know I'm not a teacher. Actually, I'm your worst nightmare.”

She giggles, “How about you teach me what you know,” she lilts, “Make me your _perfect_ companion….” She wriggles, inching her panties farther down.

The Doctor traces his fingers across the downy dark hairs of her mound. She holds her breath. He slips a long middle finger between her lips, unsealing her slit, and she explodes with warm juices. “ _Ahh!_ ” she gasps, cheeks red.

“ _Hm!_ ” The Doctor grunts and slides fingers in her syrupy mess, slipping in easily.

He withdraws and guides her round rear up to his desk. He scooches her to the table’s edge, and then he splays her knees apart, her ankles still locked in denim and lace. Her anxious clit peeks from her hood, pink that’s gone magenta in anticipation.

“You know this is dangerous,” she huffs.

“I don’t know that for sure,” he shrugs, “but I certainly _hope_.”

Clara tosses her bob, “Shut up and give me my extra credit.”

He chuckles, “Are you sure about this?”

“Are you? Have you ever been sure?”

“No.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Let's go!”

“Ha!” he chuffs, then he thrusts inside her, grunting. Her hand flies down between her legs, and she slips her fingertip over her pulsing bulb. She moans out with surprise. “Keep going,” he puffs excitedly, “You're doing it, you sexy thing.” He gives her leg a smart smack and slops away at her pussy. She pumps her hips wildly, crying out in brave vibrato abandon below, and he cums inside—too weak to pull out. She is a vessel of transcendence.

The Doctor wakes up, face pressed to the hard surface of a lecture hall desk.

“Time for world history,” prim and proper adult Clara announces, “… with a guy that calls himself ‘the Doctor.’”

“Actually,” he drawls sleepily, “it’s ‘ _Mr._ Doctor.’”

“ _Mister_ Doctor? Seriously?” she shakes her head, tousling her perfect jaw-length hair.

He nods slowly with a smile, eyes closed. _CLACK,_ she raps his desk with her ruler, “You’re failing, Doctor, which makes Teacher very upset.”

“Failing at what, exactly?” he presses his hands together, pursing lips in contemplation.

“You’re pretty old,” Clara clucks, “so it’s understandable you’ve gotten slow….”

“That isn't even the least bit strange. Do you know what is?” He cocks an eyebrow, “Your answers.”

“I’m so glad I picked you,” she breathes fast, leaning over.

“Ah, of course. That makes perfect sense,” he quips, rolling his eyes.

“Shush now,” she presses his lips with her ruler. “You’re not talking yourself out of this one, _Mister_ Doctor.” She strokes the ruler up his thigh. “Look at yourself here, doing such unspeakable things to innocent girls.”

“Someone of immense power and influence has orchestrated this whole thing. Someone who I have no doubt is _listening to us right now_ ,” he says to the ceiling.

“I know it's scary and difficult, but do you love being the crazy old man flying around in a box?”

“Wait,” he spins and points his fingers, "that's it."

“Is that a yes?”

“You want me to do the dance?” he shouts up at the ceiling, _“I can do the dance!”_ He sweeps a lanky arm, clearing her desk in obnoxious recklessness. He throws his long dark coat down and flings himself backwards onto the desk. “Come on,” he taunts, tugging his zipper down, “do your worst! Make me your proverbial ‘bitch,’ who- or what-ever you are!”

“Yes,” Clara nods thoughtfully, “good idea.”

“Of course it is,” he pulls his boner through his boxers, “That's why we're here. To study our tormentor. So,” he smacks his lap, “let's get to work. Chop, chop. This is another chance to observe it in action.”

“As it makes you fuck Clara again…?” she moves closer, unbuttoning her blouse.

“Of course,” he nods, jacking himself slowly, “as it makes me _fuck_ you again,” he puffs. 

“You sound like a child right now,” she crawls onto the desk, “a very confused and spoiled little brat,” she straddles his waist….

“Please, Teacher,” the Doctor laughs, “I’ll do anything to raise my grade point average.”

Bending as if to plant a kiss, she bites his ear. “Ow! Ow!” he rubs his ear.

“My beautiful idiot, biting's excellent,” she smirks, and she pulls his hand to cup her breast, “It's like kissing, only better.” She squeezes.

His sex tool swells. She reaches below with delicate fingers then sinks her warm, soft pussy onto his his stiff prick. She swirls her small hips, pumping with sensual radiance.

“Oh, Clara, this feels like dying—”

She grunts, grinding down, milking him with her magma infinity.

“ _CLARA!”_ he shouts, spitting a little, his eyes roll back. He squeezes her slender frame, and his lips twist and curl. 

“Names are funny, aren’t they Doctor?” she chuckles, riding his crescendo, _"OHhhhh!!”_

The Time Lord cum-crashes across infinity, blasting magical alien jizz deep into companion abyss. She squeals his name, his _real_ name, cumming hard, crushing him with the gravity of a million suns. He opens his eyes but all he sees are bright skipping spots of light.

“You are never alone, in this topsy turvy universe,” she pants. “Through eons and across millennia, we dance across milky beds of newborn stars,” she strokes his wavy hair back, “and we will watch ancient lights explode from existence.”

“… You are the most beautiful thing…,” he whispers dreamily.

“Finally, you crazy old man; we have exploded together,” she sighs as he blacks out.

The Doctor chokes on a snore.

He stumbles from the bedroom and back upstairs to the TARDIS controls—the levers move on their own. His double-pulse quickens doubly, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. _Whoo-whoosh,_ the TARDIS churns through time, crashing across space….


End file.
